Never Come Back

Chapter Thirty-two

Dan called while I was driving home from the Grunge. I answered as I drove, one hand on the wheel and the other on the phone. I hoped no cops saw me.

“I was just seeing how you were doing,” he said. “If you need anything.”

Do I need anything? I thought. Where do I begin?

I opted for a simple statement of fact. “I was at the hospital already this morning.”

“That’s an early start,” he said, trying to sound light. It didn’t work. His words hit my ear like a lead weight.

“There’s a lot going on here, Dan,” I said. “A lot.”

“Oh,” he said.

I understood where he was in his approach to me. He wanted to be cool and coy. He wanted to give me space, but he also didn’t want to miss the chance to help me if he could. It was impossible, and I couldn’t blame him for fumbling it.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, trying to keep it simple.

My apartment building came into sight. I cut down the small alley and pulled into my designated spot. The sun was bright, the air still cool. I’d cracked the window and let the breeze blow against my face.

“Look,” I said, “this is all going to be in the news soon, so you might as well know. Hell, everybody at school is going to hear about it too.” That realization just hit me. My life would become an even bigger soap opera, the kind of story passed along to each new class of graduate students. Yeah, her mom was murdered. And her mentally handicapped brother did it. “It’s Ronnie,” I said. “He confessed to killing my mom this morning.”

There was a long pause. I thought the call had dropped. Then I heard an intake of breath. “Jesus,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

“So am I,” I said.

“Jesus,” he said again. “Where are you? Are you at the hospital?”

“I’m home now,” I said. “Or almost home. I’m in the parking lot of my building.”

“Do you want me to come over?” he asked.

“No,” I said right away. I knew my voice sounded sharp, almost harsh. I didn’t want to dismiss him. I just needed a moment to… I don’t know what I needed to do. I just didn’t think I needed Dan there right then. “I’m okay,” I said. “I have some calls to make. I’ve already talked to a lawyer for Ronnie. My uncle’s going to call and let me know what’s happening. And I have to go back to Dover Community later. I’ll call you, though. In a little bit, I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” he said. “Sure. Call me when you want.”

He put on a brave face, but I could sense the edge of disappointment in his voice. He wanted to be Johnny-on-the-spot for me.

“I’ll call you,” I said. “I promise. You know how I am. I have to sort through this first. Give me a little bit of time to absorb all of this.”

“Sure,” he said. His voice had some starch back in it. “I’ll let you absorb. I understand.”

“Okay,” I said. “Bye.”

As soon as my right foot hit the bottom step, I heard someone call my name from behind me.

“Ms. Hampton?”

A man’s voice. Ms. Hampton. A cop? Richland?

But the voice sounded gruff and older.

I turned around, taking my foot off the step.

“Elizabeth Hampton?” the man said.

The man who faced me was short, almost squat. He looked to be as tall as me, about five feet, five inches. And he was squarely built, his body bulky and thick through the stomach and chest. His legs were short. He wore a dark sport coat and matching pants, a white shirt open at the collar, and no tie. I guessed he was about seventy years old, maybe older. But despite his age, his body gave off a sense of power and strength.

He smiled at me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sneaking up on you like this.”

He looked familiar. I had seen him somewhere before, but I couldn’t place it. And I didn’t know his name.

“Do I know you?” I asked. I backed up a step, returning my foot to the bottom step. I placed my hand on the banister. My phone was in my hand.

“Could we talk?” he asked. “Maybe in your apartment?”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “And if you don’t tell me—”

He smiled but didn’t show any teeth. He had a small mouth and a weak chin. “I get it,” he said. “After what happened to your mother, you’re cautious. I understand—I really do.”

When he mentioned Mom, the connections in my brain sped up. That was how I knew him. He had something to do with Mom.

“Were you—?”

I stopped. I saw it in my mind. At the cemetery, the man Paul was talking to while I was with Dan. The man who seemed so agitated with whatever Paul was telling him. That was the man standing before me.

“You were at the cemetery,” I said. “You were talking to my uncle.”

“Paul,” he said. “I’ve known Paul most of my life.”

“Were you friends with my mother?” I asked.

“More than friends,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do this out here?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “And what do you mean you and my mom were more than friends? Did you date her?”

He smiled again, but his eyes looked sad. It seemed put on, forced, as if he wanted to play the role of sad puppy dog.

“What do you mean?” I asked again.

“Your mom and I were high school sweethearts, and we were married for more than fifteen years.”